A Mouthful of Forevers
by thephoenixandtheflame
Summary: Hermione is back at Hogwarts and so is Draco Malfoy. A story of old prejudices, new friendships and firewhiskey. "Our love came in the middle of the night. Our love came when we'd given up asking love to come. I think that has to be part of its miracle." - Clementine Von Radics
1. Chapter 1

The sky, the clouds, the world outside, faded into a blue grey blur as the train picked up speed.

A scarlet steam engine, rolling across the countryside, billowing smoke under a wide, dark, sky.

Hermione Granger put a finger up to the foggy window and scribbled a patch of countryside. She wished, not for the first time, that she was out there instead of in here.

This is what she'd wanted, after all. A second chance at finishing her schooling, taking her NEWTS and properly graduating. Doing it all the right way. She wasn't on the run anymore, Voldemort was dead and everything should have returned, albeit shakily, to normal.

But it didn't feel that way, not really. The expectation of normalcy had been elusive. Once the Ministry had authorized it, Hermione had traveled to Australia through a series of Portkeys, leaving Harry and Ron behind to rebuild.

She'd found her parents and reversed the memory modification, spent several days explaining what she had done and why, convincing them that it had been for the best. Had it really? When the Grangers had returned to Britain, Hermione spent nights drenched in sweat, shaking from repeated nightmares of heavily lidded eyes and long dark hair. Hogwarts had felt inevitable for her as it didn't for Harry or Ron, whose futures were secured in their sacrifice.

And then there were those fleeting three hours after Fred's funeral, where she and Ron had made their final attempt at a relationship and ultimately failed. It was amicable, as things had never been between them. Friendship took work, but there were bonds that couldn't be broken by silly whims or frantic romance. So now, they were just friends. Hermione knew that there had been something missing beyond schoolgirl longing. She wasn't looking for her intellectual equal or for another Gilderoy Lockhart, but she needed…more. Chemistry, sparks, "magic", whatever it was. Being with Ron felt forced, like she was still on the run.

She wanted home.

She turned back into the compartment, bathed in a wavering golden light.

Ginny, playing with Arnold. Neville, reading a book on exceptionally dangerous plant life, legs stretched out on the opposite seat. Luna, buried in today's edition of the Quibbler. Every so often, a member of the former DA would pop in, hug someone, offer condolences and hurry onwards. First, second and third years would peak unabashedly through the glass, whispering about Voldemort and the War of Hogwarts, about the golden trio. Hermione was used to the whispers about Harry Potter, but she was downright uncomfortable now they were saying her name so loudly and frequently.

"You'd think they'd have better things to do," Ginny glared at the most recent face to appear in the foggy glass, nose pressed against the pane as if no one in the compartment could see. "I don't know how Harry puts up with this, it's a nightmare."

"I think it's quite nice," said Luna, brightly, looking up from the Quibbler, "They've asked me all sorts of interesting questions about Voldemort and his army. I told them that he had a whole herd of heliopaths-"

"Luna," Hermione sighed, "There were no heliopaths!"

"That's what you think," Luna said mysteriously, returning to her copy of the Quibbler. "Did you know Kingsley Shacklebolt moonlights as a jazz musician?"

It was a mark of their friendship with Luna that nobody batted an eyelash at this revelation.

"Hang on," Neville said, staring at the entrance to the compartment with an odd look on his face, "Is that…?"

Hermione looked towards the door to see a tall, thin shadow with white blonde hair slipping out of sight along the corridor. She got up and pulled the door open and the figure disappeared into a compartment further down the train.

It couldn't be.

She hadn't seen Draco Malfoy since he'd left the castle, all those months ago, striding away in between his parents. Mr. Weasley had told them over breakfast one morning that the Malfoys still lived in their old house, hiding away from the world. Lucius had been arrested a few months back, and there were rumors that Draco was estranged from his mother and father. No one knew what had happened to them.

They were remnants of an old world, a cruel illustration of how far it was possible to fall.

"Was that Draco Malfoy?" Luna asked, serenely. All the others nodded, not speaking. There were times when it was easier to pretend things were normal. This was not one of them.

"He was rather kind to me," she said, a thoughtful look on her face, "When I was at the Manor." _Leave it to Luna to make it sound as though she was there for the summer holidays_ , thought Hermione ruefully. Luna began humming softly, ignoring the stunned looks around her.

Nobody spoke.

"I can't believe they let him come back," Ginny said finally, breaking the silence. Hermione found herself at a loss for words. She could feel her scars tingling, her insides electric.

Neville shrugged. "I suppose they've got their reasons. I feel bad for the bloke, honestly. Can't have been easy- "

"Being a death eater?" asked Ginny, sarcastically, "Yeah, that can't be a walk in the park."

"I was going to say growing up in that house," he shuddered, "That's an unpleasant lot."

"Unpleasant is the understatement of the century," Ginny said, folding her arms. Hermione and Luna laughed, but it was the sort of humorless thing that makes you feel emptier than usual.

The sight of Hogsmeade, rapidly approaching, caused Hermione's stomach to drop. Disembarking the train felt oddly normal, listening to Hagrid's bellows of "Firs' years, Firs' years over here." It felt almost comforting, until she approached the carriages and stifled a gasp at what she saw.

In that year alone, a record number of students at Hogwarts finally saw the thestrals.

The first morning of classes dawned cold and blue. Hermione had expected to feel excited to return to the thing she loved best, but sitting in the Great Hall at breakfast, she felt slightly sick. It wasn't just the glaring absence of students, or the tingling scars she kept trying to hide under her robes. It was the great hall, repaired, clean, absent of bodies and smoke and rubble. When she closed her eyes, she could see all of it.

"Ms. Granger."

Professor McGonagall, who was making her way down the table, distributing timetables, approached Hermione with a piece of parchment in hand, tapped it with her wand and handed it to her.

"You've qualified for all NEWT classes, so I've filled them out for you. You've also got a bit of job advisory with your head of house, which in this case will be myself."

"Oh, alright-thank you, Professor."

"And if you've got a moment after breakfast, will you stop by my office? I want to have a quick word about the upcoming year."

Hermione looked up at her curiously. "Yes, of course."

She left the Great Hall early after choking down a single, forlorn sausage. It was sitting rather badly in her stomach.

Hermione arrived at McGonagall's office a few minutes later, using one of Harry's favorite secret passages to avoid the growing throng of students heading to class.

McGonagall looked older, much older, than Hermione remembered. She noticed the grey hair around her temples, the pinch of her mouth more severe than ever.

She looked up when Hermione entered, setting aside a sheaf of parchment and gesturing to one of the hard-backed chairs in front of her desk.

"How are you, Hermione?"

Hermione gave a wry smile. "Given the circumstances, I'm alright."

"I thought as much," said McGonagall, "You must tell me if this gets to be too much for you. You've been through a terrible shock and I would understand if-"

Hermione shook her head. "It's better for me to be here," she said, quietly, "This is what I love. It's what I'm meant to be doing."

McGonagall allowed her a rare smile at this. "So, Ms. Granger. There's a rather – shall we say, delicate situation at Hogwarts this year and I will require your assistance."

Hermione didn't speak. She folded her hands and looked expectantly at the new Head of Hogwarts as she adjusted her spectacles.

"As you know by now, I'm sure, Draco Malfoy is returning to Hogwarts for another year." Hermione blinked at her, not liking the direction of conversation. "Given the events of last year, it was obviously a difficult decision. In the end, we, as in I and the Ministry, concluded that we should attempt to reintegrate him into normal society. Obviously, this will take some effort on our part, and we hoped that you, as the only member of the so called 'Golden Trio' to return to Hogwarts, would be able to – keep an eye on him."

"I don't understand," Hermione said, blankly, "What are we meant to do?"

"Now, I'm not asking you to spy on him," McGonagall said, crisply, "I'm asking you to give him the benefit of the doubt. To ensure that during his final year here he's not continuing the – shall we say, family business." She smiled wryly at Hermione, who looked aghast.

"I can't – Professor, not after this year – how can you expect-" Hermione felt slightly panicky, heart pounding at the prospect of having to see Draco Malfoy again and maintain some vague semblance of civility. How could she forgive him? How could he forgive her?

"Miss Granger, I'm not giving you a choice." McGonagall stood up and turned towards the window, her hands clasped, expression impassive.

"But Professor, he's a – "

"He Who Must Not Be Named is dead, Miss Granger. His father is in Azkaban. Whatever he is, or whatever he may prove to be, we will give him the chance to complete his education. If he proves himself dangerous or otherwise, the appropriate action will be taken."

"But why isn't he in Azkaban? Surely wizarding law dictates-"

"He was a minor when those charges were assessed. The minister has spoken with myself and Dumbledore-well, his portrait, anyways, regarding how to handle this, and we believe this is the best course of action."

"And will you tell the parents that you're sending their children to school with a former Death Eater?" Hermione did not mean to be insolent, especially to her favorite professor. But it felt like a betrayal of everything she'd fought for not to make Draco Malfoy pay for the hurt he'd caused.

"Miss Granger, I am not asking your permission for Draco to stay here. He will be monitored closely," McGonagall looked down at Hermione through her spectacles. "You are not without a conscience. This is not a punishment, rather, an attempt to do some good in the world."

When Hermione didn't speak, McGonagall put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You've read Hogwarts, A History, Miss Granger. You know that this school is one of the safest places in Britain. I wouldn't put you or my students in danger."

Hermione felt her hands shake slightly. How could it be? Slytherin house had all but disintegrated, and yet Draco Malfoy was returning to school. And she, Hermione, was expected to somehow tolerate his presence, to forgive him for his family and all he represented. The scars on her arm tingled. She felt sick.

Hermione spent most of classes that day in a haze. She left double Herbology as the sun was beginning to sink slowly into the tree lined horizon, treading the familiar path to the library instead of the Great Hall. The smell of dust and old parchment made her feel calmer and she wasn't hungry enough to eat. She thought about pulling out her new arithmancy book and starting her NEWT work, but her mind was moving too fast.

Integration. Forgiveness. Rebuilding.

It felt impossible. Her chest tightened at the thought of George, of Dobby, of Remus and Tonks and Lavender and the Creeveys and countless others. Bodies, piled in the Great Hall. The smell of death and plaster. Fiendfyre, ripping through the Room of Requirement. Malfoy's screams.

"Granger."

Her eyes flew open.

There was no other way to put it. Draco Malfoy looked awful. His hair was oddly long, a shadow of blonde tracing his upper lip and chin. The bags under his eyes were nearly black. His robes hung off him, giving him the appearance of drowning.

As much as Hermione wanted to hate him, the feeling of pity was nearly overwhelming.

It was the oddest feeling, looking at him now. Voldemort vanquished, the wizarding world free, the sun shining, Hogwarts alive again. And Draco, a remnant of an old world, standing there with a look of mingled resentment and – perhaps it was guilt, she couldn't tell.

"Oh," she said, "Malfoy." She didn't know what to say or how to react. Instinct told her to pull out her wand, but she was tired of fighting. "How are you?"

"Not exactly what I expected to hear from you," Draco's familiar drawl was tired, rougher than usual. "Given the circumstances, I'm surviving."

Hermione was, for once, at a loss for words.

" _I don't think I have the energy to hate him anymore," Harry folded the Daily Prophet over, revealing a picture of a skeletal looking Lucius Malfoy, cameras flashing over his face, surrounded by dark robed Ministry figures. "It just feels pointless now the war's over."_

" _What about Malfoy?" asked Hermione, sharp eyes discerning the short blonde hair moving in the back of the photograph. "I heard McGonagall say he might be returning to Hogwarts in the fall."_

" _I still wouldn't trust that git as far as I could throw him," said Ron, glaring at the article, which read FORMER DEATH EATER QUESTIONED BY MINISTRY OFFICIALS, and detailed the Ministry's lengthy mission to track the movements of Voldemort's remaining followers in Britain._

 _Harry shook his head. "There's a part of me that wants him to suffer for everything he's done," he said, quietly, "but there's another part of me that knows he already has."_

" _So we forgive him, then?" Ron asked, incredulous, "Just forget what that lying prick did to us? How much it nearly cost us to save his stupid life? And let's not forget that he's a prejudiced son of a-"_

" _Ron!" admonished Hermione. "I think – I think it begs the question – do we blame someone for being a puppet for their parent's propaganda, raised not to know anything different? Think about it, both of you. He's probably never had a single original opinion in his life."_

" _I can't believe you would say that after he called you a Mudblood every day for about 6 years."_

" _I'm not saying that absolves him of blame," said Hermione, hotly, "I'm just making a point about forgiving people for the things they did when they were really young."_

" _We're really young!," said Ron, loudly._

" _And we have the guidance of a lot of intelligent and loving people, Ron," said Hermione, beginning to clear their breakfast plates. "It's the same concept as SPEW," both Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows, "we have to understand where people come from and why they might behave the way they do."_

"Granger," Malfoy waved a hand at her and Hermione sank back into reality, Ron's words ringing in her ears. She realized, with a jolt, that she'd been staring at him as she reminisced, and he was giving her a very odd look.

"Er, sorry," she said, hastily, "So, um, why-why did you decide to come back?"

"Because I though it sounded like it would be a brilliant lark," said Malfoy, sarcastically. "Just what I needed, a school full of insufferable prats who think I'm the scum of the earth."

"I'd think you were here because you realized being an arrogant prick was a less lucrative occupation than it used to be before-" Hermione stopped. The words had tumbled out of their own accord. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, I'm not going to pick a fight with you."

"Is that a threat or a promise, Granger?" Despite his hollow appearance, the words seemed to have brought the malicious sparkle back to his cold, grey eyes.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Haven't you got better things to do than resurrect an old rivalry, Malfoy?"

"Not particularly, no," he said, an edge to his voice.

"I'll make it easy for you, then."

Yanking her bag over her shoulder, she turned on her heel and strode down the adjacent aisle, trying to outrun the feeling of growing panic.

"Albus," she panted to the fat lady, before climbing through the portrait hole. The common room was empty, most of the students lingering at dinner, so she marched up to the highest dormitory, her own little room.

She was the only Gryffindor girl out of the original 5 who'd returned that year, and as such, she'd been given the Head Girl's dormitory, despite turning down the official title. It was warm and circular, with a single bed, a small fireplace and a scarlet chintz armchair. Savoring the quiet, Hermione curled up in the chair and let her breathing return to normal.

Draco Malfoy was human embodiment of everything Hermione hated. Elitism, laziness, cruelty and worst of all, cowardice. Since the war had ended, she knew his father had been Kissed and was awaiting a death sentence in Azkaban. He and his mother had been pardoned, but had been forced to relinquish much of their wealth for their father's wrongdoing.

A small voice spoke, echoing her memory from the Burrow.

When does a boy start being responsible for the actions foisted on him by his father? What if it is all he knows? If he is raised as a puppet of propaganda? What if he loves his family? What if the very idea of normalcy is defined within the walls of a palatial, dark house?

These thoughts were rational and yet so irrational that Hermione could hardly martial them.

She felt her chest rising, familiar panic flooding through her. That loss of control, that feeling of reckless terror. Hermione hated it, hated that her mind strayed too dark things, tricked her into thinking that they had not lost the war, that everything was falling apart. Her scars tingled again and she hugged herself, rocking back and forth, hoping against hope that the nightmares wouldn't come.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Great Hall**

The post arrived early next morning, slinging rainwater over the students at breakfast.

A scruffy tawny owl careened down the Gryffindor table, knocking over a pitcher of pumpkin juice before skidding to a halt next to Hermione's plate.

"Hermione, did you finally buy an owl?" asked Ginny, giggling as the sodden owl tottered around the cereal bowls, hooting happily.

"Yes," said Hermione, pulling two envelopes off the tawny's legs and stroking her affectionately, "I needed some way to communicate with Harry and Ron without bothering Pig all the time, and Harry still hasn't gotten a new owl since Hedwig-" she stopped, breathless for a second. "Her name is Tonks," she started again, trying to sound casual.

It didn't quite work.

"How is Crookshanks taking it?" Neville, appearing out of nowhere, slid into the bench beside Ginny and started loading up his plate with sausages, approximately 6 different magical plant related books stacked next to his plate.

"They get along surprisingly well," Hermione said, "Although Tonks tried to beat Crookshanks half to death one day over a dead rat. I think both have resigned themselves to a friendly rivalry."

Neville chuckled over a bite of sausage before wolfing down the rest of his breakfast, gathering up his books and racing off, with a "see you later!"

"Honestly," Ginny mused, "He's worse than you! Ten days into term and he spends half his time in the library and half in the greenhouses asking Professor Sprout about venomous tentacula seeds, or whatever."

"Does he want to teach?" asked Hermione, thoughtfully. "I've always thought that would be a really meaningful way to contribute to the community."

"I think so," said Ginny, "I asked Hannah Abbott about it and she got rather flustered. I think they might be doing a bit of snogging, if you ask me. Speaking of which, how is everything with Ronald?"

Hermione blushed. "Oh, um," she started.

"Oh shut up, I know you two ended things," said Ginny, "Harry told me before we came back to school, you'd been so secretive about it. I just mean is everything okay with you two? Still friends?"

"Yes, I mean, we are. It just wasn't," Hermione faltered, feeling as if telling Ron's sister this might not be a prudent course of action. "Wasn't really meant to be, I suppose. We're better off as friends."

"Did you ever shag him?"

There was a loud gagging noise as Hermione choked on an overlarge sip of pumpkin juice. She cast Ginny a withering look as she mopped the front of her jumper off.

"What do you think, Ginny?"

"I think that when Ron shags a girl, we won't ever hear the end of it. I just figured, with you lot off looking for Godric knows what all year, you might have been getting into it- OW, Hermione!"

Hermione smacked her with a rolled up Daily Prophet. "Oh, honestly Ginny, do you really think we were preoccupied with a good shag while on the run from you know who, Snatchers and god knows what else, in a tent that smelled like cats?"

"Horcruxes can't be good for your sex drive," said Ginny, giggling madly.

"You are insufferable, Ginevra," Hermione huffed, unfurling the prophet and disappearing behind it.

"HARRY POTTER TO ACCEPT POSITION IN MINISTRY DEFENSE" she read aloud, with a photograph of Harry smiling awkwardly underneath and shaking Kingsley Shacklebolt's hand.

Ginny frowned at this. "He said he'd be interviewing with the Auror office this week, I didn't think he'd already accepted the position."

"I expect now that Kingsley's in charge it feels a bit more like the Order and less like Fudge's regime resurrected," said Hermione. She studied it for a few moments more and then put the Prophet aside (she'd given up on reading it in depth as of late due to the frequent mentions of her name) and started in on letters from Harry and Ron.

Ron's was characteristically short and missing most of the important details, but it painted a picture of normalcy. He was struggling badly with Fred's death and being home hadn't been the comforting respite he'd thought it was. All in all, he was coping and considering training to be an Auror alongside Harry. Harry had interviewed with the Auror office and accepted a position to train there. He was living in Godric's Hollow, in his parent's house, and commuting to London during the week. He also said "say hello to Ginny."

Ginny grinned at this. "He's so romantic I can hardly stand it."

"I suppose you two have already done the deed, then," said Hermione, haughtily.

"You want some pointers?" Ginny said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "When there's something you can tell me that I can't read in Witch Weekly, Ginny, I promise I'll ask your opinion. Until then, let me riddle it out."

They finished their breakfast and started the walk down to the dungeons for potions when Ginny nudged Hermione's shoulder. The back of Draco Malfoy appeared, hurrying down a few flights of stairs below them, clearly trying not to be seen.

"What's he doing back at school, then?" asked Ginny, "Didn't McGonagall say something to you about it?"

"Er," said Hermione, "I think she's trying to promote some unity after the war. Integration, I suppose. I don't know, exactly."

"Seems like a load of waffle," said Ginny, "He's always been an arrogant, slimy git, hasn't he? Aside from trying to kill all our friends."

"Well, yes, but McGonagall seems to think that Kingsley and Dumbledore want us to be…. forgiving."

"Forgiving?" Ginny laughed, but there was no humor in it. Her face was pale and set in the darkening light.

Hermione sighed. "Bit farfetched, yes. From what McGonagall's said this is the ministry's way of ensuring he's a productive member of society."

"Yeah, but that doesn't exactly make up for the fact that he's a Death Eater."

Ginny's voice echoed over the bannister of the stairs and it was clear through the twitch in his shoulders that Draco had heard it. He did not turn around.

 **The Next Day**

Hermione marched resolutely back to the library, determined to make another attempt at civility with Malfoy. She had never left a task assigned by a Professor incomplete and she was not about to start now.

She found Malfoy at the same back table, feet propped up, contemplating the window.

Hermione cleared her throat, one hand clutching her bag, the other a handful of robes to stop herself from shaking.

"Malfoy," she said.

"Granger," he glanced at her, the same thoughtful look on his face. "You came back."

"Well, this is the library. It's not exactly a surprise."

"Granger, making jokes?" Malfoy asked, a rare smile playing at the corner of his lips. "And I thought I'd seen it all."

"May I sit?" she asked, feeling her face redden slightly, meeting his eyes for the first time.

"McGonagall put you in charge of looking after me, did she?"

Hermione blinked in shock, her hand on the back of the chair. The words were venomous. His face was still impassive, the cold grey eyes boring into her. His gaze made her feel unwound. She wondered, vaguely, if McGonagall had told him the full extent of the integration plan.

"How did you know that?"

Malfoy ignored her question. "And why in the name of Salazar Slytherin did you agree to it, if not to make me completely fucking miserable?"

"Because," Hermione said, bravely, "Because she knew that despite what you've done and what you are, I'd give you a chance. Because I want to fix people. Because I'm who I am and you're who you are."

"So, will you fix me?" Malfoy smirked, his eyes wild and furious. He stood up, and Hermione was struck by how tall he was.

"I don't want to fix you, Malfoy."

"Then what?" the question hung in the air, vibrating between them.

"I want to understand you."

Malfoy closed the distance between them in a single step, looming above her, his hand resting on the shelf above her head. He was so close she could smell him, an overpowering combination of musk and mint and spice.

"You want to understand me, Granger? Then I'll tell you. I've been through hell, watched people die, thought I was going to die too. My father hated me, my mother couldn't look at me, and I was punished for everything I represented. I didn't want a winner or a loser, I just wanted it to be over. And if you think I give a rat's ass if you or St. Potter or the Weasel or that stupid bint McGonagall believe I've changed, I don't."

"Prove it, Malfoy," Hermione hissed, trying not to breath in the smell of him.

"Prove what, Granger?"

"Prove I misjudged you," she said, "Prove it."

He stepped back, running a free hand through that overlong blonde hair, a motion that seemed almost unconscious.

"It's a waste of time," he said, "You wouldn't believe it after 7 years. I suppose I wouldn't, either."

"Prove yourself wrong, then," Hermione said, quietly, "Don't be what they're making you out to be, Malfoy. You don't have to answer to anyone anymore."

"Oh I don't?" Malfoy laughed hollowly, "Granger, you're stupider than I thought you were."

"Fine, Malfoy, fine. Do whatever the hell you want, see if I care," she said, feeling that familiar anger rising up inside of her. "But when you suffer for it, don't come crawling back to me, alright?"

She turned on her heel and marched off, fuming.

 **Two Days Later**

The note had been fixed to his dungeon door.

He had stormed up to Gryffindor tower after downing half a bottle of firewhiskey and demanded that the fat lady open and let him in. It was only until a timid fourth year named Jane Everard came trembling into Hermione's dormitory that anyone dared leave the confines of the common room.

Hermione wrapped herself in a dressing gown and ventured outside of the portrait hole to find Draco Malfoy pacing up and down the corridor, a piece of parchment clutched in his fist.

"M-Malfoy," she stammered. She'd never seen him like this. He looked half mad, his robes hanging askew, his hair over his face. "What's wrong?"

Wordlessly, he thrust the note into her hand, continuing to stride back and forth, turning on his heel when he reached the end of the corridor.

"He's a madman," whispered the fat lady, who looked slightly terrified.

The note read as follows:

 _You deserve to rot in hell._

Below it were moving pictures of the many casualties of the Great War. Tonks, Lupin, Dobby, Dumbledore, Snape, the Creevey's.

Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears.

"Oh, Malfoy-"

"MY BEST FRIEND DIED TOO," He roared, "MY MOTHER'S HALF DEAD, MY FATHER'S AS GOOD AS," he sounded demented, his face scarlet and strained, panting, "I saw him kill-I saw him torture-" Malfoy seemed, for a second, lost for words. "He made me-made me kill, made me-"

"You're not—don't-Malfoy-don't-" Hermione strode forward and in a wild burst of courage, put her arms around him, held him to her. She felt him shake like a leaf, tears coming faster and faster. He did not embrace her, did not even move, until after a second she felt one arm pull her close, and then the other.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "For everything."

"How can you be?" Malfoy said it so quietly, "After everything I've done?"

"Because there's no other way." Hermione knew it was the truth before she said it, and now standing there, holding Draco Malfoy, she knew that the world had ceased making sense when Cedric died, and had never made sense again.

 **One Week Later**

They didn't talk about the breakdown. Hermione thought it would be indelicate to bring up, and Malfoy seemed to echo this thought. He had been avoiding her for 3 days, slinking in and out of classes, spending most of his time in the dungeons (or so Hermione guessed, since he wasn't in the library.)

McGonagall asked for updates every so often about Malfoy's welfare. Hermione found herself trying hard to sound unbiased in these meetings, going on about his egotism and completely omitting their interactions. She didn't really know what it meant that Malfoy had cried in her arms. It felt like desperation, and she, the most sensible witch in that school, couldn't stop thinking about it.

There was something about his hollow cheeked, long haired look that made her feel a bit – oh, come on, Hermione. She had to be lonely, because it was inconceivable that she'd be attracted to the wizard she'd unceremoniously slapped in the face in her third year.

On the fourth day, Hermione scribbled a note and left it on the desk Malfoy usually occupied in Charms. It read:

 _If you want to talk, The password's Albus._

 _HG_

She watched him unfurl it, read it and then slip it into his bag unceremoniously. Hermione's palms started to sweat. Malfoy did not turn around.

 **12 am.**

He arrived with a quiet knock on the door.

Heart pounding, Hermione stood up to let him in. She was wearing a large white sweater and jeans, long hair plaited back. She hadn't given a thought to her appearance in months, but tonight she had stood in front of the mirror for a quarter of an hour, plucking at the strands of hair around her face.

"What's this?"

Draco was holding up her copy of Pride and Prejudice, the one that usually perched on the bookshelf near the fireplace.

She stared at him.

"Err – that's a Muggle book. By Jane Austen. It's quite famous, actually."

Draco studied the cover, not speaking. "What's it about, Granger?"

"It's a love story," Hermione said, trying to keep the confusion out of her voice. It was uncharacteristic of Malfoy, she thought, to be interested in any book at all. "About a girl who-well, she misjudges a man. And then they end up falling in love when she realizes – "

Malfoy had turned his head to her and was boring down again, eyes dark as the rain outside.

"She realizes that he's not what she thought." Hermione finished quickly, trying to look anywhere but Malfoy's face.

He put the book down. "Odd, what these Muggles write about," he said, after a moment.

"They write about humanity," said Hermione, simply, "They write about people and how people act and why they do the things that they do. Wizards are the same, really."

"Are they?" Malfoy said this with the slightest hint of something in his voice, almost like he was about to laugh.

"You mean, do they misjudge people?"

"Yeah, Granger, you think?"

Hermione felt, for a moment, that the air in the room was suddenly a lot scarcer than a few seconds ago.

"I haven't misjudged you, Draco, you know it's more – "

"It's more complicated? Is it?" Draco's voice was steady, but the inflection read clear. "I know what I've done, Granger, and I've paid for it every single day of my life. You grew up with two parents who loved you, I'm sure, and you're brilliant and you're best friends with St. Potter-"

"Oh sod off, Malfoy, you say this every single-"

"Let me finish," Now he was standing up, fists clenched. "I was a filthy coward, alright? A Death Eater, if you will, and not even a very good one at that. But the right thing was never clear to me, Hermione, it was never as simple for me as it was for you." He ran his hands through his already mussed hair. "I tried, at the end. When they asked me to identify Harry, I tried." His voice cracked.

It was quiet in the dormitory.

"I have nothing left except this school," said Draco, "I've got nothing. My mother is sick, has been ever since the war ended. I only returned because I knew she wanted me to finish my education, because the ministry thought it was a good way to keep an eye on me."

Hermione opened her mouth but he held up his hand. "I'm not asking for your sympathy, Granger, god knows I've done enough damage. I just wanted you to hear it from me."

Hermione felt something entirely odd, just then. A rush of something like sympathy and then, beneath it, a warmth that resembled affection. Malfoy picked up his cloak and turned to leave and Hermione spoke without thinking.

"Stay."

"What?"

Hermione didn't know who had said it. Maybe it was her, but she couldn't remember forming the words. She just didn't want him to go. This was the first night in so many that the nightmares felt trapped beyond the confines of the tower.

She didn't care that he was a Death Eater or a Slytherin or a traitor. Right now, he looked like a little boy lost. There was nothing left of him, still, but suffering and old arrogance and something like sincerity.

"Stay and do what, Granger?" he asked, quietly.

"I-I don't know," she said. "I just thought, since…." She trailed off.

Malfoy's gaze did not waver.

"So what do you want me to do?"

Now that he was still standing there, Hermione couldn't seem to formulate words. She just kept staring at him, in his oddly formal clothes, that longish hair, the stubble that made him look too old and too young.

"I don't hate you, you know," said Hermione, breaking the steady silence. "I know it's not black and white. Nobody came out of this unscathed, but you can't blame me for – for being so angry that sometimes it doesn't feel like a victory at all."

"You know what, Granger?" Malfoy spoke, his voice shaking, "Good for fucking you. You and your little Golden trio and your precious plans, your Ministry front covers and your little Head girl room." He gestured around. "I've got nothing, Granger, and you sit here and whine about how your little hero tale doesn't 'feel' like a 'victory'. You'll never have to fight for a single fucking thing in your life after this, not one."

"Malfoy, I never-"

He grabbed his cloak and left the room in a whirl of black cloak, slamming the door behind him. Hermione was shaking, her scars tingling, the blackness beyond the windows pouring through the walls.


	3. Chapter 3

**Gryffindor Tower**

Someone was screaming.

It was dreadful, a horrible shrill sound that curdled Hermione's blood. She struggled, pain coursing through her body, sweat pouring down her neck and back. Above her, heavy lidded eyes, the silver flash of a knife.

"Hermione," the figure whispered, "Hermione,"

She struggled, fought, turning this way and that, held there by some unseen bonds, feeling the blood and the stickiness of her sweat and the taste, metallic and tangy, in her mouth. The pain hit a crescendo with a nauseating rise, so badly she could barely stand it, everything was excruciating, searing and then –

"Hermione."

She bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, wide awake.

Draco Malfoy stood above her.

"Malfoy what the-"

"You were screaming."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her hand on her wand, throwing an arm across her chest. Hermione became acutely aware that she was wearing nothing but a wet t shirt.

"You asked me to stay," Malfoy said, embarrassed.

Hermione caught sight of the Firewhisky bottle on the table by the fire.

"Oh -"she found herself lost for words. She knew they'd drank a lot of it, perhaps more than she'd meant to. They'd read bits of Pride and Prejudice, and Malfoy had talked about his family. Hermione explained what a dentist was. It had been strange, utterly surreal, and somehow – comforting. Comforting that another person could be as broken as she felt.

"It's alright," said Malfoy, awkwardly. "I can just leave."

"You don't have to leave," said Hermione, "Let me just – let me wash -just a second."

Malfoy looked at her, both lost for words in the strange, inexplicable tension that hung in the room.

"Alright." He said, and sat back into the arm chair.

Hermione showered quickly, washed her face and changed into clean pajamas. After a long slug of water, she entered the room again, to see Malfoy idly staring into the fire, twisting his long fingers.

"So-"she said.

"So," he said.

"Why did you stay?"

"You asked me to."

"But – but why did you listen?"

"I was feeling chivalrous, Granger."

"If you're not going to take this seriously – "Hermione started, heatedly.

"I know what it's like to have nightmares," interrupted Malfoy, "And it helps to have someone there. Simple as that."

"Oh."

For a minute, they stand there, eye to eye. Hermione's hair softly dripped onto her shoulder, arms wrapped around herself. "Did you sleep on the chair?" she asked, hesistantly.

"Thanks to an extension charm, yes. Still extremely uncomfortable."

"We had a lot of Firewhisky," she said, examining the bottle on the table. It was more than half gone, and she felt the liquid sloshing in her brain. Somewhere during the last few weeks, their meetings in Gryffindor tower had become more frequent. Something about firewhiskey and companionship, maybe. Hermione had never been much of a drinker, but the taste of it made the nightmares feel farther away. Or maybe it was Malfoy, she couldn't quite tell.

"We did," said Draco.

"Was that all?" Hermione couldn't remember what had happened after they'd talked, how she'd gotten into her bed, how long he'd been there before she drifted off into her nightmares.

"You don't remember?"

"Er – no. I haven't had that much to drink – "Hermione looked at him sheepishly, "Maybe ever. I'm not sure. I think- "she paused a moment, met his eyes. "I think it felt good to forget."

"Always does." Malfoy wasn't speaking much, his eyes traveling around the room. Hermione could feel him closing himself off again.

He nodded quickly and turned to leave, closing the door more gently than usual. Hermione let him walk away, because she didn't know what else to say. She had an unsettling feeling in her stomach, that something irrevocable had happened beyond the confines of her memory.

 **One Week Later**

"You kissed me, that night."

The library was unusually crowded for a Saturday. It had been a week since the incident in the tower, and Hermione was hissing through her teeth at a haggard looking Malfoy, who was skulking behind a shelf of books in his usual chair.

"I was drunk."

"But you did." Hermione said it with her familiar childish stubbornness, feeling something strange inside of her. It had come back to her in a rush, a quick and quiet thing. Hands, fast and angry. A kiss like a bruise, poignant and pleasurable, aching inside of her.

Malfoy was trying not to look at her, tipping his chair back until he couldn't see her anymore.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Granger."

Hermione felt stung. She didn't think she even wanted to be kissing Draco Malfoy, but for him to play it off as a mistake, a drunken accident, hurt more than she wanted to admit.

She left the library and went down to dinner. This was a futile effort, as Hermione spent most of the meal picking at her food, a book propped up around her plate so no one would bother her.

"Hello, Hermione," said an airy voice from behind _Translating the Tenuous._ Hermione peered over the top of her book and saw Luna Lovegood, who was wearing her gurdy root earrings and looked rather pleased about something.

"Hi Luna," she said, trying not to sound exasperated. Hermione didn't like the prospect of having to talk to someone instead of brood about her Malfoy predicament for an hour or so.

"I saw you reading," she said, dreamily, "And supposed you might like some company. Or maybe, you'd like to be alone?"

"No, it's alright," said Hermione, putting down her book, "How are you, Luna?"

"Oh, I'm quite well, thank you," she said, "I've just had a letter from Rolf, you see. He's told me such interesting things about the species they're studying in Transylvania. Very secretive, he says. They want to publish the discovery in the Quibbler once they've confirmed its abilities!"

"Rolf?" asked Hermione, who'd never heard Luna talk about anyone of the male species with that particular kind of reverence, "you don't mean Newt Scamander's grandson, do you?"

"Oh, yes, I do. Althought Newt was a bit, well, narrow minded with his publications."

Hermione did not roll her eyes, and reflected that this showed a particular kind of personal growth when it came to Luna.

"Are you two-?"

Luna giggled. "I do like him, if that's what you mean. I think he might ask me to visit him this summer in Translyvania, if Daddy allows it. He's been so very protective since the war, you know."

"Well, that's lovely, Luna," said Hermione, sincerely this time. She was trying not to feel envious of her excitement, of the simplicity of her relationship.

"You look upset."

"I'm not upset, Luna, I'm fine," she sighed.

"It's not about Ronald, is it?"

"No," said Hermione, "It's not about Ronald."

"Someone else, then?" Luna looked uncharacteristically observant, her eyes calmly studying Hermione's reddening cheeks.

"Well," said Hermione, feeling slightly nervous, "well, I suppose, yes, it is someone else. Although I'd rather not say who, exactly."

Luna raised her eyebrows. Hermione had the distinct feeling that she knew more than she was letting on, but if Luna did know something Hermione didn't, she wasn't saying anything.

"You're conflicted." It was not a question.

"I don't really know how I feel, to be perfectly honest," she said, quieter than before.

"Well," Luna stood up, eyes dreamy again, "Remember that no one does, these days. Just be forgiving. He's probably as conflicted as you are." With that, she flounced away, leaving Hermione more confused than ever.

She kept avoiding Malfoy over the next few days, but Luna's words echoed in her brain every time she caught a glimpse of the back of his head before potions, or avoided the library on a dreary Sunday. Then, after a shortcut after her weekly meeting with McGonagall, Hermione saw him in an empty hallway and tried to turn around.

Malfoy heard her footsteps and looked up.

"Granger," he said, "Wait a second."

He strode up to her, much closer than he'd ever been before. Malfoy smelled like something soft and spicy, clean with a hint of muskiness.

Then he spoke, steadily, quietly, like a breath of wind on water.

"Granger?"

"Yes?"

"My apologies."

"Can't you just say that you're sorry?"

"I'm telling you I apologize, Granger, or is that not good enough for you?'

Hermione's mouth opened and closed. For once, she couldn't think of anything to say. His eyes bore down on her, steely bright and grey.

And she relinquished for a moment, let part of that dark, dark knot inside of her unfurl.

"Okay."

"And I'm not drunk, this time," he said.

"Why does that-"

And when he kissed her, for the second time, it was hard and terrifying and soft and blissful and everything, everything, everything. His lips moved over hers like he was trying to find something, and Hermione had never wanted to give anyone anything so badly.

Malfoy pulled away for a moment and looked at her, his eyes softening.

"Granger," he said.

"That's not my name," Hermione interrupted.

A smirk spread across his arrogant features.

"Hermione," he said, and her name sounded like music, "Do you still hate me?"

"You think you can just snog me in broad daylight and call it even?" said Hermione, hotly, trying to smooth her now disheveled hair into place. His face hardened for a second and she sighed, "For what it's worth, I don't hate you."

"Given up, have you?" Malfoy drawled, a hollow laugh in his voice.

"It doesn't make sense, does it," she said, "but nothing does right now. I think you've changed and I think you're trying. And forgiveness-well, it's the only thing that keeps the nightmares away, these days."

Malfoy stared at her, a hard, defiant look overtaking his features before he pulled her to him, kissing her long and slowly and deeply, and angrily and then faster and harder until her shirt slipped over her shoulder and his hands engulfed her and for a moment, everything was blissful oblivion.

 **Two Weeks Later**

Hermione thought that given the circumstances, she was doing a rather poor job of concealing her snogging sessions with Draco Malfoy. And even worse than that, Malfoy seemed to want to spend time with her, remaining completely unabashed at their strange, passionate trysts.

They were back in the library, at the back table hidden in rows upon rows of books. Draco was lolling back in his chair, pulling bits of feather out of a quill. Hermione was throwing him dirty looks over her potions essay, which was trailing on the floor after an hour of writing.

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Pardon me?" asked Hermione, who had heard the question perfectly well and was doing a bad job of pretending she hadn't. Malfoy had taken to winding her up, lately, asking her questions that were sure to make her blush or choke or both.

"I said, did you sleep with Weasley?" said Malfoy loudly.

"I fail to see how that's any business of yours," said Hermione, busying herself with shuffling parchment around on her side of the table.

"So you're pure, then, Granger?" He drawled, popping the 'p', "Can't say I'm surprised," Malfoy was trying to get a rise out of her and damn it all, her face was getting redder by the minute.

"And what does that make you, Malfoy? A slag?"

"I'm rather selective with you I sleep with, Granger, that shouldn't come as much of a surprise to you, despite what you have apparently been led to believe," he touched the tips of his fingers together, "But you, I would have thought you'd have read about other people fornicating enough to want to try it out yourself."

"I don't know what you mean," said Hermione, angrily slamming a book shut, "Or why everyone assumes that I was getting my brains shagged out while on the run last year. I'm a virgin, alright? Do you feel better? Enlightened?"

"Not enlightened, but intrigued," smirked Malfoy.

"Oh, grow up, will you?" huffed Hermione, standing up and shoving the books and parchment into her bag, "If your selectivism means that absolute waste of space Parkinson than I can't say I set much stock by your taste. "

"So why not then? Why haven't you done the deed? Haven't found anyone worthy yet?" Malfoy was grinning unabashedly now, looking up at her with mirth filled eyes.

"When I do "fornicate", Malfoy, it will be with someone I care about and trust, rather than someone who resembles a common garden gnome." At this, Hermione stormed off, thinking to herself that it would be a strange day when neither her nor Malfoy left a conversation in high temper.

 **One Week Later**

"The first years get smaller and more idiotic every year, I swear," Malfoy set his bag down at their table in a huff. "Doesn't help that we're practically older than McGonagall herself."

"You may not have been as small," said Hermione, trying not to look too satisfied that he'd made a return to their daily routine after ignoring each other for another week, "But you were every bit as idiotic."

After a moment, she looked up to see Malfoy grinning at her.

"What?" she asked, nervously.

"Nothing,"' said Malfoy, "But at least I wasn't a completely insufferable know it all."

Hermione glared at him. "At least I wasn't a loathsome, evil little – "

"You've used that one before," Malfoy smirked, "Besides, I wasn't all that interested in running around, knocking out trolls and crawling up Dumbledore's as-"

"If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were a bit jealous."

"Jealous, Granger? I'm sure you would have loved that."

"Ferret."

"Bitch."

Hermione reached across the table to slap him and he caught her arm in midair, bringing her so close to him she could have kissed his forehead. She thought wildly for a second, that while arguments with Ron had made her want to scream, fighting with Malfoy was an entirely different and wholly more physical feeling.

"Granger?"

"What?" she hissed, fighting his grip.

"This is…. nice."

"What is? Assaulting me?"

"As much as I do cherish getting you riled up, Granger, I meant this little – study group we've established. Makes my days a bit less horrendous."

"Happy to help," Hermione yanked her arm away and sat down, a little pink in the face.

"So," drawled Malfoy, conversationally, "Although precedent would suggest otherwise, I'd assume you enjoy a fire whisky every now and again?"

Hermione shut her book, abandoning any pretense of study. "I don't mind it."

"Maybe a butterbeer, then? Pumpkin juice?"

"Will you get to the point?"

"I've made a rather poor habit of frequenting the Hog's Head on weekends," said Malfoy, "And I was wondering if you might like to join me for a drink?"

"And you're telling me that McGonagall allows you into Hogsmeade on weekends?" asked Hermione, her eyebrows raised, her stomach rising into the region of her throat with surprising speed.

"Aberforth's been…babysitting," said Malfoy, looking sulky. "Better than spending Saturdays with a bunch of plastered Gryffindor eighth years at the Three Broomsticks, I can tell you."

Faced with the possibility of spending Saturday buried in books, or trying to go for a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks without being ogled at, Hermione decided that she might as well join him.

"I'll meet you for one drink, Malfoy. One." She said, as firmly as she could.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Granger," Malfoy gathered up his books and departed. Hermione was left staring after him, wondering if accepting a drink with Draco Malfoy, outside of the safety of the castle, was a good idea.

"I told him I'd go to the Hog's Head with him on Saturday," said Hermione. She was in McGonagall's office now, pacing back and forth while the professor graded transfiguration essays, waving her wand periodically over a shrinking stack of parchment.

"Have a biscuit, Ms. Granger," said McGonagall, as if she had not heard what Hermione said.

Nonplussed, Hermione took a biscuit and sat down, holding it awkwardly in her hand.

"Should I be getting a drink with him?"

"Well I rather think that's your prerogative," said the older witch, "I don't see anything wrong with keeping an eye on him in Hogsmeade, and there seems to be a measure of trust there."

"I don't think trust has anything to do with it," muttered Hermione.

"You've done an admirable job with Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall, laying her wand down and meeting Hermione's eyes, "Dumbledore, the minister and I have seen a marked change in him since the start of term. I wonder," she took her spectacles off and blinked at Hermione, her expression softening, "You don't have-well, it would be perfectly natural to but-you've been spending quite a lot of time with him and - "

"Professor," Hermione interrupted hurriedly, feeling her face heat up, "I've just been studying with him, that's all. Nothing more. I wouldn't-I couldn't-compromise anything like that."

"I thought as much," said McGonagall, returning to her papers, "You're far too sensible, Ms. Granger. Yes, I suppose a Hogsmeade visit might do the both of you some good. Try not to indulge too much, and keep an eye on him, will you?'

"Of course," Hermione said, standing up quickly and letting the ginger newt crumble in her fingers.

She spent the majority of Friday so distracted that Professor Flitwick asked her if everything was alright when she failed to answer a question for the second time during their double Charms block with Slytherin. Malfoy allowed her a tiny smirk, which she blushed at before returning to her Super Sensory Charm with slightly shaky hands.

Ginny, who was not nearly as thick as most of the class, caught on to this quickly.

She cornered Hermione outside of the charms classroom, hands on her hips, a very Mrs. Weasleyish look on her face.

"What the hell is going on, Hermione? First you don't answer any of Flitwick's questions on Charm theory, then you go blushing at Draco Malfoy of all people, not to mention that I've barely seen you in two weeks? Have you been Confunded? Imperiused?"

"Oh, er, I've just been – you, know, with NEWTs and everything," Hermione found herself faltering badly. How could she tell Ginny that she'd not only accidentally snogged him, but was going on what could very well be considered a date (by some) the next day?

"No, I don't know," said Ginny, skeptically, "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were shagging the prick, honestly."

"Ginny, for goodness sake, don't you have better things to worry about then my love life?"

"No," grinned Ginny, "Not particularly. And stop dodging my question! Are you or are not enjoying the presence of one Draco Malfoy, and sneaking about because you know it would be absolute treason for a member of the order to be caught snogging a Death Eater, former or otherwise?"

"I'm not enjoying his presence," Hermione shot back, "McGonagall asked me to keep an eye on him, that's all."

"You must think I'm really stupid," Ginny said, "Not to notice that there's been someone coming in and out of the head's dormitory late at night."

"It's not-you don't-I haven't shagged him, Ginny, I just-we just talk, mostly, although he's not the most loquacious person, really,"

"And he's a slimy git," said Ginny, frowning at Hermione, "Why are you even giving him the time of day?"

"I don't enjoy giving him the time of day," Hermione sighed, "Think of it as a charitable endeavor."

"Like SPEW?"

"I'll have you know that SPEW is 7 members strong now and growing and thanks to Kreacher's efforts with the Hogwarts house elves, we've got 3 different initiatives in development."

"Does that include trimming Kreacher's nose hairs?"

They argued merrily all the way back to the common room, Ginny hurrying up to the 7th year dormitories once they arrived to don her quidditch robes. She'd taken to getting out to the pitch an hour before practice, sometimes more, so she could practice scoring and flying the ball. Ginny had told Hermione in confidence a few weeks ago that if she could get recruited by a good team she would try and fly professionally for a few years.

Hermione was glad for some peace and quiet. She had not really considered presenting to Ginny or the others the idea of Draco Malfoy being anything less than completely repugnant. Gods, what was she doing? Why had she accepted a drink with him? What if he hexed her? She knew she was more than even match for him, and despite the events of the last two years, Malfoy wasn't a murderer.

And he intrigued her. Was he handsome? Yes. Was he infuriating? Also yes.

What had Ron been? The voice in her head spoke slowly, quietly. Ron had been wonderful, but Ron had also been a friend. A brother, even. She loved him very much, but she wasn't in love with him. The war had pulled them into a reckless quasi romance, but after the end it felt forced, built out of nothing more than desperation.

Saturday came much faster than Hermione anticipated. She spent most of the day in her dormitory, shuffling her ancient runes notes and pacing. She tried to read a book and failed, because she kept checking her watch. She wrote distracted, lengthy missives to Harry and Ron. She marched down to see Hagrid, only to be rebuffed because he was tending to an injured Grindylow down by the lake. By 4'o clock, she was so nervous she felt sick.

Forcing down some dry toast in the Great Hall was about as much as she could manage. Thankfully, there was a Quidditch match the next day, so Ginny had been out on the pitch all afternoon.

"You look like you accidentally swallowed stinksap," Neville commented, sliding in beside her with Dean and Seamus, all of whom looked windswept and red faced. They were the only Gryffindors from Hermione's year that had returned, as Lavender was still in St. Mungo's and the Patel twins had gone back to Dubai to be with their families.

"I'm fine!" said Hermione, "Just fine!"

"Any plans tonight?" asked Dean, helping himself to mashed potatoes, "We thought we'd make a night out of it and get inordinately pissed at the Three Broomsticks."

"Madame Rosmerta's working," said Seamus, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll convince her to come out with us," said Neville, rolling his eyes. "Hannah said that some of the Hufflepuffs were thinking about it, and I think Boot and Corner might make an appearance. A little DA reunion, if you will."

"Oh, did Hannah say that?" asked Seamus gleefully, "What else did she say? Anything about how good you are at…. herbology?"

"Shove it, Finnegan," said Neville, looking rather pleased with himself.

Hermione smiled despite herself. In the days since the war, as the ministry's efforts to round up former Death Eaters had been more successful than initially suspected, the curfew had considerably loosened. Any students of age could take weekend trips to Hogsmeade, which was mainly used by the older witches and wizards as an opportunity to 'let their hair down'.

"I might make an appearance," said Hermione, standing up, "But don't get your hopes up, I've got an ancient runes essay that needs finishing."

"Good to see some things never change," said Dean, waving goodbye and returning to his steak and kidney pie.

Hermione took the steps up to the Gryffindor Common room two at a time, arriving in her room completely out of breath. She got dressed very deliberately, choosing jeans, a comfortable pair of boots and a oversized cream sweater. She used some Sleakeazy's to bring the bushiness of her hair down to a more manageable level and decided to wear the diamond earrings her parents had gotten her on her 18th birthday. All in all, it had a pleasant effect, and Hermione thought she looked rather nice. Her cheeks were so flushed at this point she looked feverish, but she was running late and there was nothing for it but to pass it off as an impending cold.

Hermione snuck down to the mostly deserted entrance of the castle, wishing very badly that she had a good invisibility cloak and then slipped outside, where she turned on the spot and apparated into the snowy lane outside of the Hogs Head.

There were still wards on the castle that prevented outside apparition into Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, but it had been the decision of McGonagall to allow apparition into Hogsmeade from Hogwarts and vice versa. It made it much more pleasant to travel there on snowy evenings, although Hermione didn't often join the tipsy crowd of students who frequented the Three Broomsticks every weekend.

Too much work and all that.

The Hogs Head was as empty as it had always been, although Aberforth looked as if he'd been doing a much better job cleaning it. It was brighter and warmer, the taps on the bar gleaming and the tables scrubbed. The man himself seemed to be in the back, but true to his word, Draco Malfoy sat at the bar, back towards her.

Hermione steeled herself and walked up beside him, taking a seat.

"Granger," he said, eyeing her. "You look different."

"Different?"

"It was a compliment," Malfoy drawled, "I believe the correct response would be 'thank you.'"

"Implying that I normally look like-?"

Malfoy grinned at her. "You're entirely hideous for a M-" he stopped, "For an insufferable know it all, you know that, Granger?"

"Good catch," she muttered, looking around. "Where's Aberforth?"

"Getting me the good stuff," said Malfoy, "Translyvanian Firewhisky. Strongest in the world."

"I thought this was a casual drink?" said Hermione, feeling another wave of nerves roll over her.

"I don't do casual drinks, Granger," said Malfoy, "I'm not a very casual person, you see."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"You're a Gryffindor, Granger. You're not afraid of anything." He said it in a mocking way and Hermione glared at him, feeling as if she was suddenly very much over her head.

Aberforth came sauntering out, holding a round bottle of reddish gold liquid. His bearded face broke into a grin when he saw Hermione, though he didn't hide his confusion at her choice of drinking partner.

"Miss Granger, how are you? Do you want anything?"

"Er, I'll have a butterbeer, Ab, thank you! I'm well, how are the goats?"

Malfoy snorted loudly. Hermione shot him another glare and then said, quietly, "And I'll take a firewhisky, too."

"The goats are coming along fine, Hermione, it's good to see you again." Ab poured her a glass of amber liquid and set a butterbeer on the counter. "I was beginning to think you'd left Hogwarts." He was looking warily from Draco to Hermione and back again. "You need anything else?"

"I-I think we're alright for now, thank you Ab." Hermione felt her resolve slipping the longer Draco's eyes were fixed on the side of her face.

Aberforth raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything, choosing to retreat into the bar back with what looked like a bottle of Rosmerta's mulled mead.

"So," started Hermione, nervously, "So, what do you want?"

"Is that any way to start a conversation?" drawled Malfoy, who was already pouring himself a second glass of whisky. Hermione sipped it and felt something that resembled liquid fiendfyre roll through her body. She gasped and set the glass down, feeling as if she'd been knocked backwards.

"Scared, Granger?" Malfoy's face was closer to her than she'd remembered.

"You wish," she said, draining the glass and feeling her insides sear unpleasantly, reveling in warm drowsiness that spread over her body, that calm feeling of forgetting.

It was a challenge, she realized. She felt sized up, like an opponent in a ring, a prize to be won, a riddle to solve. Hermione could not remember feeling as vulnerable as she did with Draco Malfoy, who looked at her like a candy he was itching to unwrap. The cold, angry exterior fell away with each glass, his eyes warming from cold steel to a molten gray, his cheeks pink.

They began to talk, sparingly at first but then more easily. He told her stories of his vast fortune and cold house, the people he'd met at the ministry and what they were like. She explained muggle things to him, explained how plugs and airplanes work, and told him stories of her own childhood, their vacations in France and what exactly skiing was.

"But how," Draco was frowning, brows furrowed, "How the hell does the-what do you called it – airplane stay up without magic?"

"Engines," said Hermione, "And wings. The engines propel and then the wings sort of" she made a sliding motion with her hands, "keep the plane up. I think it has to do with a Jetstream."

"That's truly terrifying," said Draco, shaking his head, "Almost as ridiculous as sliding down a mountain on little bits of wood."

"It's like flying," Hermione said, "You'd like it if you tried it, really."

"If I want to fly, I'll use a broomstick, Granger," Draco said, "Not a ridiculous muggle made contraption. Honestly, it's as if you don't know me at all."

"I thought your only form of transportation was being carried around on a velvet pouf by enslaved house elves."

"Ha ha, Granger."

The hours slid by, slower and then faster, Hermione far too many glasses of whiskey deep. She was sitting on the bar now, facing Malfoy, who was lolling back, feet propped up in a chair, his hands flying about animatedly.

"You know the Quibbler wrote," said Hermione, giggling, as Malfoy relayed a story of a particularly scandalous dinner at Fudge's house, "that Fudge had initiated a mass goblin genocide and was baking them into his pies."

Malfoy began to laugh, harder than Hermione had seen him in years. She thought, right then, that it was quite a nice sound when he wasn't doubled over in mirth at the expense of someone else. Hermione began to laugh in earnest and they sat there, tears streaming down their faces, and the world suddenly began to make sense again.

"This is good," he said, as their laughter subsided, "This feels – "he looked at her, and grey met brown and suddenly Hermione felt as if she'd been on a broomstick and taken a very sudden dive. Her insides were swooping madly and her limbs felt leaden, like she couldn't move if she tried.

"Malfoy-"

His lips crashed into hers with a force she couldn't have imagined. The fire whiskey on his tongue burned in her mouth, fanned into a brilliant flame. Her breath left her body as he pulled her off the bar and pinned her against it, choking out three words in between fevered kisses.

"I-want-you."

"You're drunk," Hermione pushed him away, trying to regain her balance, feeling like she'd just had the breath knocked out of her lungs.

"I want you when I'm sober too."

"You think I'm dirty." The words left her mouth before she could even think about them. Malfoy raised his head, stepped back.

"I know what I said, Granger."

"And?"

"I don't."

"You don't what?" Hermione would drag it out of him if it killed her.

"I don't-think you're dirty," he breathed out, teeth gritted, "I think you're-you're so-"Malfoy grabbed the sides of her face and pulled her towards him until they were nose to nose, "you're intoxicating."

Hermione knew that it was wrong. She knew that it was complicated. She knew she should know better, but if the war had taught her anything, it had taught her that life was too short for logic and plans. And Draco Malfoy was the most illogical, unplanned thing that had ever happened to her.

So, she kissed him back, hard, wrapping her fingers in the fabric of his cloak, pulling him closer so that she could feel the heat of his body, arousal blossoming in her stomach at the feel of him against her.

"Do you want this, Granger?" Malfoy pulled back, his hands under her sweater, running over her back, over the clasp of her bra.

"That's not my name, Draco," she said insolently, "If you're going to touch me, you have to use my name."

"Alright then, Hermione," he said as he yanked her closer, biting her exposed shoulder, "Do you want this?"

She looked up at him, all hands and hair, his bright eyes and high cheek bones, obscenely full lips parted. He looked at her hungrily and she couldn't deny it.

"Y-yes, Draco. I want this."

Draco's eyes went nearly black.

"Let's go."

They apparated back to the castle, Hermione feeling as if she had made the kind of irrevocable decision that changes a person. Malfoy's hand was tangled in hers as they snuck through the oak front doors and up the marble staircase, stopping once they'd reached an empty corridor.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, breathless.

Draco looked down at her, a smile playing around his lips. Without further ado, he dragged her up the stairs, towards the Gryffindor common room. With trembling hands, Hermione whispered "Albus," to the fat lady, who raised an eyebrow at Malfoy.

They snuck through the common room and into the top dormitory without seeing anybody.

The room was bathed in soft firelight. Once through the door, Hermione reached her bed and turned, Draco facing her. They stared at each other, opponents in a ring. The silence was aching.

"Are you sure about this?"

Draco, for the first time, looked nervous. He looked at her like she was something he might accidentally shatter.

Hermione stood stock still, heart pounding. "No," she said, "But I want it anyway."

"You care about me, Granger?" Draco was mocking her now, his face impassive, "You trust me?"

Hermione stared at him in shock, unbidden tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Every warm feeling of wanting, of being wanted, faded into a cold, silent emptiness. "You're right, Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, feeling fury build in her chest. "How could I possibly sleep with someone as vile, as pathetic, as you?"

He looked taken aback at these words and Hermione knew she hadn't mistaken the flash of hurt in his eyes. How could he throw that in her face, now? It felt like a betrayal of her trust, a blatant contempt for her vulnerability. Hermione hated herself for feeling so embarrassed at her own inexperience.

"Just go," she said, turning away, willing herself not to cry while he was standing there, staring at her. The door slammed and Hermione sank to the floor, succumbing at last to tears.


	4. Chapter 4

**2 weeks later**

"I'm sorry."

"Save your breath."

"What else do you want me to say?"

"Nothing."

Hermione was sitting in an abandoned classroom, arms folded tightly across her chest. Malfoy had cornered her after class and was currently sitting on a desk in front of her, an oddly desperate expression on his face. It had been two weeks since their disastrous date at the Hogs Head, and Hermione had been avoiding the library at all costs, doing most of her NEWT work in empty classrooms and her dormitory.

"You've been avoiding me." Draco sounded like an impudent child.

"Well at least we know you're not as stupid as you look," spat Hermione, glaring at the wall. She didn't like to look at him when she was angry. He always made her feel like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Granger, please, I didn't mean it."

"But yet," Hermione made to stand up, "You still said it."

"I shouldn't have." Draco said, desperation slipping into every syllable, "Old habits die hard, Granger, sometimes I just-"

"That's a pitiful excuse and you know it." said Hermione, furiously, gathering up her bag, "I confided in you, Malfoy. I tried to be your friend and you threw it in my face."

"I know what I said-"

"And," she threw the bag over her shoulder, completely ignoring him, "If this is some pathetic attempt to get me to sleep with you, I can assure you that it's a futile effort."

With that, Hermione marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her, feeling as though she'd just lost something she never really had in the first place. It felt a little déjà vu, walking back to the common room. Hermione had a vague memory of conjuring up tiny yellow birds in that same classroom, feeling her heart ripping in two at the site of Ron and Lavender barreling through the door.

A few days later, Hermione found a note tucked into the bookshelf behind the back table. Her stomach dropped as she caught a glimpse of the initials at the bottom of the parchment.

 _Give me an hour. The lake, at sundown._

 _DM_

 **The Lake at Sundown**

Hermione didn't know why she had come. Maybe it was animal magnetism. Or maybe she was simply tired of avoiding him. Or maybe, and this was the worst thought of all, she missed him.

She stood at the edge of the lake, by the tree she used to sit underneath with Harry and Ron, watching the sun slipping beneath the surface of the lake. It felt so strange to stand here now, the grounds bathed in fading golden light, the quiet permeated by gentle splashes from the giant squid's evening swim.

It reminded Hermione of the night she'd come to Hogwarts. She'd been so nervous she could barely think straight, and remembered ruefully reciting the contents of _Hogwarts, A History_ to everyone who would listen to her, in the hopes they wouldn't know she was muggleborn.

"You came."

Hermione turned with a start. Draco Malfoy strode towards her out of the dusky grounds, wrapped in his usual black traveling cloak. _At least he has the decency not to look smug,_ she thought.

"Yes, well. You asked me to." Hermione said, brusquely. She didn't like the look on his face. She also didn't like that he'd somehow convinced her to come here. He was like a stubborn rune translation, one she couldn't leave alone.

Draco stood looking at her, the sun sliding across his pale features until they were halfway in shadow.

"Was there something you wanted to say to me?"

"Just," Draco stepped forward and Hermione took a step backwards. "I'm not using you for sex, Granger. I apologized because it was the right thing to do. And I-well, I enjoy arguing with you."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, surprised at the way he was looking at her. "Are you telling me that you m-"

Draco took another long step forward and covered her mouth with his hand.

"Just accept the apology, Granger, I haven't gone soft yet."

Hermione jerked his hand away. "Why do you have to act like such a-such a-"

"Foul, evil, loathsome little cockroach?" asked Draco, innocently, "Force of habit. But I'm working on it, Granger. And I'd be less than displeased if you stopped avoiding me. Makes my studying hours miserable."

"I'll think about it," Hermione said, trying to fight off an indulgent smile at the look at Malfoy's face, "But no more comments about my experience, or lack thereof."

"I swear it." Draco looked down at her, his eyes twinkling in the dying light. With a sudden movement he swept her close to him and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste, soft kiss.

"See you around, Granger," he said, before disappearing back into the dusky grounds, leaving Hermione more confused than ever.

 **1 Month Later**

"Have you ever heard of the Beatles?"

"Excuse me?"

"Ohh, I forgot, you haaate Muggles," said Hermione, grinning at him, her normally crisp syllables drawn out with wavering warmth. They were trading off a bottle of firewhiskey, spending another evening deep in drunken conversation.

"I do not hate Muggles," said Malfoy. He was red faced and bright eyed, sitting in the chintz armchair while Hermione sat cross legged in front of the fire. "They just tend to overcomplicate. And under simplify."

"Well," Hermione got up and started rummaging around her bookcase, pulling out a record. "The Beatles are a band. I've got some records from my parents here-"she pulled a portable record player out from under her bed and set it on the table, inserting the record and setting the needle.

Immediately a gentle crackling washed over the room, and then the first strains of "I'll Get You." Hermione grabbed the liquor bottle and let her hips sway.

" _Imagine I'm in love with you, it's easy because I know, I've imagined I'm in love with you many, many, many times before…"_

Malfoy was staring at her with such intensity that Hermione faltered in her spinning. "What?" she asked, looking down to see if she'd spilled on herself.

He rearranged his face quickly into a smirk. "By all means, keep going, Granger. I quite like a show, you know."

"Shut up," said Hermione, spinning around again, letting the music and the whiskey wash over her in the firelit room.

" _Well there's gonna be a time, where I'm gonna change your mind, you might as well resign yourself to me….."_

The song faded out and another began, with the same soft crackle. Hermione let out a little sigh.

"What?" asked Malfoy.

"I love this one," she said, as 'Let it Be' poured out of the speaker. She held out her hand to Malfoy, smiling. "May I have this dance?"

Malfoy snorted, but took her hand. He moved surprisingly gracefully, which he attributed to "years of forced dance lessons at the hands of my mother."

They danced around the tiny room, swaying softly to the strains of the guitar, Hermione becoming acutely aware of Malfoy's warmth pressed against her, the smell of him enveloping her senses.

" _And when the broken-hearted people, living in the world agree, there will be an answer, let it be…."_

As the song faded out, Malfoy slowed until they could look at each other.

It was like déjà vu. There they were, back in the highest room of Gryffindor tower. Facing each other like boxers in a ring, a few too many fire whiskey's deep, brown eyes fixed resolutely on molten grey.

"Malfoy," Hermione began, "I-I want you to stay. Here. With me."

"I told you I'm not using you for sex, Granger," said Malfoy, his voice fighting calm.

"I know what you said," Hermione whispered, "I know. But- I- know what I want."

"You sure?"

"I do."

A flash of bravery overcame her and she pulled her sweater over her head, exposing a pink lace bra. Draco's eyes darkened again, his face inscrutable.

He began unbuttoning his collared shirt, keeping his eyes fixed on Hermione. She pulled off her jeans, feeling suddenly self-conscious of her plain grey underwear. Draco's shirt fell away and she caught a glimpse of a lean, muscular chest and fine blonde hair before he stepped closer to her, reaching a long-fingered hand out to cup her cheek.

When he kissed her, it was soft and curious, but when he pulled away, his expression had hardened.

"I'm not going to be gentle, Granger," he said, quietly. "I'm not going to make love to you. I'm going to fuck you, Granger, and once I'm done you'll commit it to memory."

Hermione was utterly terrified. She knew that in his hands, she would unravel. There would be nothing she could hide from Draco Malfoy. But in that vulnerability, there was the promise of release.

Draco caught her forearm in his hand and she tried to pull away, understanding why he held it to the firelight, the scars tingling. His forehead creased and he kissed the scars, held them to his lips for a moment.

"You've never failed to surprise me, Granger."

Hermione felt like her throat was closing.

"You didn't tell them it was Harry," she said, choking a little on the words. Hermione had wanted to say it for weeks, had wanted to ask him why. She did not ask. She told him what he had done.

"I'm not a murderer," he said, "I hated Potter, but I didn't want him dead. He was the only hope I had at the time. It was hell there, in my own house. I couldn't escape it."

"Even if it meant that you lost your family?"

Draco shook his head, lost for words. The hunger and lust had faded and he just looked tired, his lip curling slightly as he reflected.

"We all made sacrifices, Granger," he sighed, "I'm standing here now because Harry saved my life. You said it yourself, it's not as simple as it was made out to be. The aftermath is- "he reached out to caress her face, brushing aside a curl of her hair, "confusing."

Hermione stepped closer to him, her eyes fixed on his face.

"I shouldn't have said what I did, Hermione," Malfoy whispered. Hermione felt herself flinch at his use of her first name.

"The past is the past, and all that," she breathed, and pulled his lips to hers.

His tongue was in her mouth, hands roaming skillfully over her shoulders, one closing over her breast, kneading it in his fingers. Malfoy grasped the back of her neck, anchoring her body to his. He lifted her body with an ease Hermione hadn't expected, her legs wrapping around his body of their own accord.

And she felt it for the first time, the solid arousal pressed against the place between her legs. It was so warm she felt as if she'd put her hand next to the fireplace, causing a pool of something like nervous excitement to form in her belly.

Pulling a hand from underneath her, he swept a layer of books and papers to the floor, sliding her onto the top of the book case.

Before Hermione could speak or breath, he'd slid a hand down the expanse of her chest and torso, down between her thighs, stroking curiously at first. A grin spread over his face as his fingers slid over her warmth.

"You're so wet for me, Granger," he growled, swiping the pad of his thumb over her clit with a practiced ease.

She gasped again, trying to form words but almost shocked at her body's response to his touch.

He slid a finger inside her and she squeaked, feeling how wet she'd become, the finger curling and massaging her innerwall. A second finger now, and he was looking at his fingers and back at Hermione, a hunger in his eyes, a desparate, incredible lust. And then, Malfoy had pulled down the underwear, cast it aside, and traced a line from her belly button downward with his tongue. She bit back another gasp as his tongue met her entrance.

Not that it necessarily surprised her, but Malfoy knew what he was doing as he ran his tongue over her, again and again, making tiny circles, causing something completely foreign to build in her belly.

"Don't…..stop…" she breathed, feeling as if she was on the precipice of something powerful.

But stop he did. Malfoy pulled away, yanking her close to him, pulling her face to his. "Don't you dare come until I tell you, Granger," he said, arousal beading his lip.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth, trying not to grind herself against him, her whole body hot.

And then he'd pulled off his pants and underwear, and Hermione stared with unabashed curiosity. He yanked her close again, laughing at her astonishment, and swiped a finger over her entrance once more. Then, he guided himself inside, slowly at first.

Hermione felt herself breaking. It felt impossible at first, too painful to continue, but he dipped in and out, until she finally felt something beyond the pain. And then Draco was deeper and deeper, and a rhythm beyond anything she'd ever experienced began to take her over.

Pleasure built faster and faster, his thumb on her clit, his mouth on her neck, pounding into her with reckless abandon.

"I want you to know who it was that made you come," Draco's voice was husky and frantic, "Look at me, Hermione, come for me." Brown eyes met grey and Hermione felt her heart expand in a way she'd never imagined it could.

With a scream, Hermione's orgasm broke over her, and by the sound of the moan from Malfoy at her sudden rush of arousal, his would follow in mere seconds.

And when it did, it was something like release. He pulled her up onto him and carried her to the bed, laying Hermione down with impossible tenderness and collapsing beside her, pulling her close.

They lay there, breathing hard, damp bodies tangled in the expanse of Hermione's bed. She'd never felt this way in her life, her legs weak, a contented warmth spreading through her body. Draco's fingers danced gently over her skin for a moment and Hermione stifled a gasp at the feeling of it.

Her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep, his arm thrown over her chest, the firelight fading to an amber glow.

 **The Next Morning**

Hermione awoke in an empty bedroom.

The fire had gone out and it was cold, thin morning light filtering through the window. Her head and the rest of her body was aching so badly she didn't think she would be able to make it out of bed.

Malfoy.

She shivered without meaning to. The memory of his lips on hers, fiery skin pressed against her, a low, rumbling growl in his throat.

The door banged open and Hermione yanked the covers up to her chin, realizing at the last second that her clothes were strewn on the floor.

Ginny Weasley appeared, a stack of toast in one hand and a teapot in the other, a copy of the Daily Prophet tucked under her arm.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," she said, taking in the sight of Hermione's general appearance, "You look awful. And are you – are you naked?"

"Oh, erm, hello, Ginny," said Hermione, nervously clutching the quilt to her chest.

"I think we need to talk, Hermione," said Ginny, setting the food down on the table, "Go put some clothes on, I don't fancy having this conversation while you're starkers."

Hermione pulled her forgotten sweater over her head and found some clean underwear while Ginny lit the fire in the grate and proceeded to make her a cup of tea.

"Did you go out with Dean and Seamus and all them last night?" she asked, handing Hermione a mug that she'd conjured out of thin air. "Actually, don't answer that, I don't want to know."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, her stomach coiling.

"Just that I went to see Aberforth, you know, to give him some stuff from Mum. And he said that he'd had a few interesting interactions with you in the past couple of weeks– and when I asked him who you were with, he wouldn't tell me."

"Oh." Hermione couldn't think what to say.

"The Gryffindors don't really frequent the Hogs Head, Hermione."

Hermione didn't say anything, staring down at the mug of tea clutched in her hands.

"I thought you said you were just keeping an eye on him?" Ginny's voice was quiet, but there was a dangerous edge to it. "Was he here last night?"

"Ginny, I- "

"How could you, Hermione? How could you sleep with that-that filthy coward?"

"Let me explain, Gin- "

"I swear to Godric, if you tell me he's changed or he's a 'different person, I'll hex you into oblivion. And then I'll march down to that pathetic dungeon he sleeps in and hex him too." said Ginny, looking mutinous.

Hermione looked up at Ginny, finally meeting her eyes. "Do you know what happened when we were taken to Malfoy Manor?"

Ginny looked taken aback. "Er-No. Harry wouldn't tell me. Seemed to think it was your story to tell."

"Bellatrix Lestrange tortured me," said Hermione, rolling up the sleeve of her jumper to expose those roughly hewn letters, emblazoned on her skin. "For hours. And when it was done, I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, could barely be by myself without losing grip on reality."

She sighed, rolling her sleeve down. "I had horrible nightmares, Ginny. Awful ones. And I had all this anger inside of me, all this completely painful anger that made it impossible for me to do anything, to care about anything. I couldn't forgive anyone, least of all Malfoy."

"When we were taken by the Snatchers to the Manor, they asked Draco to identify Harry and he-he wouldn't do it, "Ginny opened her mouth but Hermione held up her arm, "I'm not saying that justifies anything that happened. I know it doesn't make sense, I know it's sick, and twisted and feels wrong but I can't-can't explain it. It helps me let go of some of this anger."

"Merlin, Hermione, you're not serious?" Ginny looked terrified, revulsion written over her features.

"I don't know, Ginny," Hermione said, "I don't know if he's changed." She stood up, began pacing the room. "I don't plan on letting him use me for sex or for his own personal gain. But I suppose – I want to give him a chance to prove he's not what we think he is."

"Blimey," said Ginny, sitting back, reminding Hermione for a moment of her brother. "I don't believe it."

"Are you angry with me?" asked Hermione, quietly.

"I don't know," sighed Ginny, "I'm angry you didn't tell me, and I still don't trust him, but I know that you're not an idiot." She looked up at Hermione and there was a softness in her eyes. "Ever since Fred died, I don't really know how to figure this out or move forward. I guess we hang on to the stuff that helps make sense out of this mess."

"That's what it is," said Hermione, feeling relief wash over her. "I don't know how to explain it, I just-I forget that we both grew up a lot this past year. It just feels different."

"I suppose that's not too far outside the realm of possibility," said Ginny. "But I thought that growing up meant you were just going to try and be civil to each other."

"That was the original plan," sighed Hermione, "But things sort of – escalated. He's not as much of an arrogant prick as he used to be." She sounded defensive, even to herself.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Merlin, Hermione, McGonagall told you to keep an eye on him, not let him shag your brains out!" she said, "How are you going to explain this to Harry and Ron?"

"I wasn't exactly planning on putting that in my next letter," said Hermione, "Hope you've been well, how's Auror training and oh, by the way, I slept with Draco Malfoy!"

"So you aren't going to tell them?"

"I didn't really think I'd have to," said Hermione, sheepishly, turning red at the look on Ginny's face. "I never really had a rebellious streak, you know."

Ginny shook her head, smiling despite herself. "So this is it? What if you start going out with the prat?"

"Why in Godric's name would I go out with him, Ginny?"

"Well, you slept with him, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Hermione, frowning, "But that doesn't mean he likes me, or that I like him. It just means – things are complicated."

"That's probably not going to be a good enough answer," Ginny said, "When you get cornered about why you're snogging a Death Eater at the commencement ceremonies."

"Please, Ginny, whatever this is, I don't plan on publicizing it to the general populace."

"I'm just saying."

She glared at Hermione for a second. Hermione sat down in the chintz chair again and wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them up to her chin. "What would you do, then?"

"I wouldn't sleep with him in the first place, BUT," Ginny took a large bite of toast, "I'd probably ask him what the hell is going on. Then I would be honest with your best friends. Sneaking around only makes you look guilty."

"You're probably right." Hermione sighed, looking out of a tall, foggy, window. The sunrise had spilled orange light across the grounds, making the shadow of the Forbidden Forest glow faintly. She felt, for the first time in a long time, something stir inside her. Maybe it was hope. She couldn't tell.

 **One Week Later**

"It's not that," said Draco, "I-I need you."

Draco had cornered her in the library, fifteen minutes after Transfiguration had ended. Luna, who had accompanied her there, made off into the rows of books the minute she caught sight of Malfoy. He looked much worse for wear, and there was a wild look in his eye.

"You need me?" Hermione whispered, "Please. You haven't done anything but ignore me for the past week, Malfoy. I'm not some respite from how fucked up your head is, alright? You can't use me and toss me aside."

"I don't-it's not-"

"Is it a moral issue? You slept with a Muggleborn? Is that the problem?"

"Shut up, Hermione, please," said Draco, angry this time. "I slept with you because I wanted to. My head is fucked up – my life is fucked up. You don't deserve to deal with that. It's too complicated, alright?"

"How many times," Hermione yanked him behind a bookcase, pulling him in until they were nose to nose, "do I have to tell you that I don't give a damn? I made this decision myself, Malfoy, and it's not up to you to change my mind."

Draco rolled his eyes at her, the familiar shadow of malice crossing his face for a moment.

"I'm serious. You have to let yourself become something better than what you were," Hermione looked up at him, staunchly gazing into his face, "You need to let yourself change. I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe in you."

"I don't need you to believe in me," Draco growled, "I don't need your pity, Granger."

Hermione shoved him in frustration, his back hitting the book shelf and toppling a few dusty volumes. He swore loudly and dodged a falling book before grabbing Hermione and pinning her against the bookcase.

"Should have known Gryffindors liked it rough," he said, breathing hard.

"I told you couldn't use me," Hermione, fighting his grip, "I don't pity you, arrogant jackass that you are. Has it crossed your mind that somebody might actually enjoy spending time with you?"

"The thought had occurred to me," Draco's lips were an inch from hers. "But I didn't think it would be you."

"And now that it is?" asked Hermione, trying to focus on his face.

"If I was being vulnerable, I'd tell you that the feeling is mutual," smirked Draco, "But I'm not completely spineless, so I'll just say that I need you. You can decide if that's good enough for you."

Hermione was still struggling when he loosened his grip. When she didn't speak, he turned to walk away, but before he reached the end of the aisle she spoke without meaning too, the words spilling out so quickly she wasn't sure who'd said them.

"You're a flight risk, Malfoy."

Draco turned around. "Is that an airplane reference?"

"Might be," Hermione said, fighting a grin.

"Would you say that's a risk worth taking?"

"Might be."

 **One Week Later**

"Do you think you'll ever get married?" Hermione asked. They were back in the library, at the back table. Hermione was beginning to think no matter what happened, she and Draco would settle in at this table as if nothing had happened, the center of a tiny universe.

Malfoy snorted at her. "Do you know anything about Pureblood heritage?"

"I know that you're big proponents of arranged marriages and, by proxy, incest," said Hermione, conversationally. "So, I was wondering, you know- "

"If I'd marry you?"

"That's not what I said," Hermione was used to some good-natured ribbing by now, even if it had mellowed with time. "I meant, you know, will you get engaged on commencement and all that?"

"Not anymore," said Draco, darkly, "Since there's nobody to force me to. And there's not exactly a lot of good Pureblood, Slytherin girls left to choose from."

"Godric, whatever will you do?" Hermione said, a hint of irritation in her voice. Even now, she didn't like hearing about his blood status and the medieval prejudices of his family.

"Probably shag a muggle born," said Malfoy, grinning evilly at her. "If I haven't already been burned out of the family tree, I absolutely will now. Although," he paused, fingertips pressed together, "I can't say that I mind so much."

Hermione blushed.

"Why'd you end things with Weaselbee, anyway?" asked Malfoy curiously.

"Well," Hermione thought about refusing to tell him, but realizing that she didn't much care if he knew or not. "I think a lot of it had to do with the war. We tried to make it work, afterwards, but it always felt like we were forcing it for the sake of our friendship. And then he started talking about marriage and kids and not coming back here and – I've always wanted more than that."

"Like what?"

"Like – continuing with S.P.E.W., maybe at the ministry. Campaigning for muggle born rights," she threw him a look, "Subverting the patriarchy. Lots of controversial stuff."

"You're truly insufferable, Granger." Said Malfoy, rolling his eyes. "And what the hell is SPEW?"

"It's not SPEW, you idiot, it's the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare," said Hermione, hotly, "It's an organization you would do well to learn more about. And if you think that's rubbish, what exactly are you planning on doing after Hogwarts?"

"Hide out in my mansion with all my money," said Malfoy, "Drink very expensive firewhiskey. Entertain some friendly witches. Become the reckless bachelor I always dreamed of being."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at this. It was a mark of their growing friendship that neither of them left the back table in a high temper today. Instead, they worked on into the afternoon, as the light slipped down the windows and evening fell over the castle.

The weeks with Draco had gotten stranger, if that was even possible. They spent most afternoons arguing in the library, and most nights tangled up in Gryffindor tower. Malfoy never stayed the night, choosing to pull his robes on and disappear after their trysts, which left Hermione confused and disconcerted. The confines of that relationship did not extend into everyday life.

They didn't acknowledge each other at meal times or in classes together, nor did they make any more trips to the Hogs Head. Hermione had begun going to Hogsmeade on the weekends with Hagrid and the former DA, finding a distinct happiness in reflecting and (occasionally) forgetting.

She was beginning to wonder if she was keeping Draco a secret, or if he was keeping her one. As the year progressed, Hermione began to think it might have been her. She was terrified of what people would think of her, most of all what Harry and Ron would say if they found out. She'd never been this type of person, the girl who fell into casual relationships. When Viktor Krum had propositioned her, she had turned him down in favor of more sensible pursuits, like homework and – well, Ron Weasley. She'd been fourteen, for goodness sake.

And now, she'd thrown caution to the wind. It felt like a good thing, like she was finally living a life unburdened by the shadow of things to come. But just when Hermione felt most relieved, the reality of her current situation came barreling back.

She had feelings for Draco Malfoy. Strange, swoopy feelings. She liked talking to him, arguing with him, listening to his stories, feeling him move over her, his eyes full of unspoken lust. Hermione wrestled with her path forward, wondering if she should break it off. It couldn't happen.

Could it?

A small voice in her head spoke, and she had a vision of herself, in a white gown, marrying a faceless stranger. Hermione's stomach plummeted and she felt as if the Giant Squid was dragging her under the surface of the black lake.

She had to talk to him.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione lay in bed, Malfoy's arm draped over her chest, staring at the inside of her scarlet hangings. The impending dread at ending the 9 months of tumultuous friendship was almost unbearable, and she itched to push his sleeping form away and get up, to run away from the complicated mess that had quickly become her life.

She cursed herself for being so illogical. Hermione had felt a good many things in her life, but she never felt quite as stupid as she did now, trapped under the weight of her impulses. All hormones and heart and bad decisions. Nothing straight forward or intelligent about it. She'd succumbed to Draco's smiles and his scowls, his not altogether absent intelligence and even his terrible, scornful sense of humor.

Hermione stayed that way, thinking furiously, until the sun began to rise, spilling weak rays across the bed. Rolling out from underneath the still sleeping Malfoy, she crept across the room and curled up in the arm chair, wondering if she should wake him up herself.

"Granger?" A few moments later, Malfoy's sleepy, husky voice made her jump. "Granger, stop being such an overachiever and come back to bed, for God's sake."

"Er, Malfoy," she got up, wondering if this was the worst possible moment she could have chosen to have a serious conversation, "I need to talk to you."

Malfoy sat up slowly, shoving white blond hair out of his eyes, squinting across the dim room. "You couldn't wait another hour, Granger?" he asked, looking up at her.

"It's just, I don't –" Hermione began, stopping as soon as she caught a glimpse of the look in Malfoy's eyes, struck by the hurt she saw. He already knows, she thought, he already knows what I'm going to say.

"Whatarewe?" she said in a rush, trying to regain her composure, "I mean, what are we doing here, Malfoy? What does this-" she gestured at him, around the room, where the remnants of last night's debauchery lay scattered across the furniture, "mean?"

Malfoy shook his head at her. "You always have to have an answer for everything, Granger. You always have to have a fucking plan. You can't do something because it feels good, or because you want to. You have to know what it means and what will happen because of it, don't you?"

"It's not that!" Hermione exclaimed, her nerves fading into outrage, "Do you honestly think this is a good idea? Do you think this kind of – arrangement – actually works in the real world?"

"So, this is an arrangement to you, then?" Draco said, his tone icy. He still sat in bed, the covers dropping off his bare chest as he propped himself up farther.

"That's not what I meant," Hermione backtracked, "I just meant – I just meant that I thought you didn't want to- "

"But this isn't about what I want, is it?" interrupted Malfoy, "This is about you realizing that I'm still Draco Malfoy, and I'm still a Death Eater, and those two things are more important than how you actually feel about me."

Hermione paced back and forth, arms folded across the massive t shirt she'd worn to bed. She refused to look at Malfoy, trying instead to focus on the stone wall, the brilliantly lit window, anything but the visible hurt in his eyes.

"How do you feel about me, Granger?" Draco's voice was a low, guttural, growl.

"I don't – I don't know, Malfoy," Hermione choked out, trying to keep her voice level.

"Don' ." He spat out, "Don't pretend like you don't care just as much as-"

Hermione shook her head, eyes filling with tears.

"We can't do this, Malfoy."

"Why, Granger?" Draco asked, "Because your stupid little hero friends don't like me? Because I'm a coward and a Death Eater? How could you possibly make my life any worse than it already is?"

Hermione shook her head, trying not to cry. "This was convenient Draco, for both of us. We needed someone to hold on to while we tried to rebuild everything. I'm not saying for a second that I don't care about-"

"You care a damn sight more about what Potter and his friends think of you than what I do, Granger, don't bull shit me," Draco spat, "You're the first person who told me that I wasn't worth nothing and now you're standing here, making me feel as if I am."

"You're not, Malfoy," Hermione gasped, "You've changed and I've seen you change and I'm so proud-"

"You're not proud," Draco interrupted, getting out of bed and snatching his clothes from the floor. "You're ashamed of me. I can't say I blame you, but I'd prefer it if you hadn't lied to my face for the past 9 months." He yanked his shirt over his head and pulled his shoes on, turning towards the door.

"I didn't lie to you, please, Draco," Hermione said, her hands shaking, "This is the best thing for both of us, to leave here as friends – allies, even!"

Draco stopped in front of her door and turned slowly back to Hermione, his face expressionless, eyes as bottomless as the lake. "What did you say to me all those months ago? That you're not my solution nor my ally?"

Hermione stared at him, willing herself to stop crying, unable to say anything at all. He looked the way he had when she'd seen him for the first time, all those months ago. Hermione realized in that moment how much his face had changed over the course of the year, the way his pointed features had somehow softened into something almost pleasant.

Draco gave her one last lingering look. "Well, Granger, you got your wish," he said, quietly. And just like that, Draco Malfoy stormed away from her for the very last time.

 **6 Months Later**

A torrential downpour consumed central London, the skies nearly black outside every wet window. People scurried back and forth under umbrellas or stood under awnings, waiting for the rain to stop. It was nearly early evening by the time it slowed to a gentle patter outside the Ministry office.

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had bewitched their magical windows to show a dazzling spring day, so Hermione was caught unprepared when she hurried out of the employee entrance at 6 o'clock.

Casting a subtle impervious charm, she made her way down to the record store bordering the Leaky Cauldron. She was supposed to meet Harry and Ron there, but had finished up a day's worth of SPEW related meetings rather earlier than expected.

The Leaky Cauldron was beginning to fill up with a Ministry crowd, most grabbing pint of butterbeer or a mulled mead before apparating home. Hermione took a partially obscured seat in the corner and ordered a firewhisky from the pink haired bar keep, who reminded her painfully of Tonks.

She'd grown rather fond of firewhiskey. Must be something about the taste, she thought ruefully.

"Well, well, well. "

She froze. It couldn't be. Draco Malfoy, who, according to rumor, was currently residing in Malfoy Manor with the remnants of his family, and who she had tried very hard to avoid upon accepting her position in the DRCMC.

"Oh, hello," Hermione said, as casually as she could manage. Her voice sounded very high pitched. "How are you?"

Draco ignored this. Hermione couldn't really blame him. "I heard you accepted a position in the Department of Magical Creatures, Granger. That's impressive." He spoke levelly, his expression impassive.

"T-thank you, Malfoy," Hermione cursed inwardly as her hand shook on the glass slightly. The feeling of missing him, compounded excruciatingly by his sudden appearance, made it impossible to even look at him, let alone formulate sentences. "I like it. It's – erm, interesting."

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"Harry and Ron."

"Ah," Draco pulled the collar of his cloak up and smiled, although there was no humor in it, "Then I'd better go. Can't risk the golden trio getting ahold of me today. I suppose this is goodbye, then, Granger?"

"Er-y-yes-oh, blast," Hermione, shaking, had knocked her glass onto the table.

"You've acquired a fondness for firewhiskey, I see." Draco raised his eyebrows as she righted the glass and siphoned the liquid off the table.

For the first time, Hermione turned her face to his. It felt like all the breath left her body, her heart aching in her chest at the hard, dark gaze.

"Something about the taste," she said, hardly daring to breathe. An almost imperceptible shadow crossed his face.

"See you around, Granger."

Draco Malfoy disappeared.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," said Ron, sliding in beside her a few minutes later with a pint of butterbeer. "Are you drinking firewhiskey, Hermione?"

"Rough day at work?" asked Harry, taking the seat across from them.

"You could say that," sighed Hermione, "How was yours?"

"Was that Draco Malfoy I saw slinking out of here a minute ago?" asked Ron, curiously.

"I think so," Harry said, talking a long sip of butterbeer, "Vance said he'd been holed up at the manor since Hogwarts commencement. Not sure what he's doing down here, though."

"Probably trying to convince Shacklebolt he's not a danger to society," Ron muttered darkly, "He's still scum, I'm telling you."

"He's not scum," Hermione hadn't meant to say anything, but the words had slipped out, unbidden.

Harry and Ron both raised their eyebrows at her, causing Hermione to blush and turn her gaze to the now empty glass in front of her.

"Says the witch who punched him in the face third year," said Ron, "If I didn't know you better I'd think you'd gone soft."

"I haven't gone soft, Ronald, I just think we should be less quick to make judgements."

"I'm not making a judgement, Hermione, I've experienced the scumminess first hand."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I'm saying."

"Yeah, I do," he said, glaring at her, "You think all this stuff that Kingsley's preaching about forgiveness also applies to that blonde git."

"He wrote me." Ron and Hermione stared at Harry. He had spoken so quietly that Hermione thought for a moment she'd misheard him. "Who wrote you?" they said in unison, turning shocked expressions to Harry, who was looking very nonchalant.

"Malfoy. After commencement," Harry set down his pint, "He wrote me a letter. Said he was sorry for everything-"

"Sorry?" scoffed Ron, "Fat lot of good that does-"

"Shut up, Ron," said Hermione, "What else did he say?"

"And that he understood if I didn't forgive him, but he said thank you. For saving his life in the Room of Requirement."

"Was that all?" asked Hermione, feeling breathless all the sudden.

Harry turned bright green eyes on her. "Yeah, that was all." Hermione had a feeling he wasn't telling the truth.

"Blimey," said Ron, "Unexpected, huh. Did you write him back?"

"I did," said Harry, "It felt like the right thing to do. I thanked him for not telling the Death Eaters who I was at Malfoy Manor-"

"And fat lot of good that did!"

"Ron!" Hermione punched his arm, "Will you stop interrupting!"

Harry grinned at her. "And that I hoped we could be civil in the future, provided he didn't refer to anyone as a Mudblood or cast aspersions on their blood status." Hermione smiled back, feeling her stomach swoop again. Malfoy had written to Harry. He cared.

"Oh damn," Ron checked his watch, which had just emitted a musical tinkle. "I'm about to be late for dinner. Do either of you fancy a meal at the burrow?"

"I can't," Harry said, "I've still got another meeting tonight. Ginny and I will be there this weekend, if she's done with training in time."

"Hermione?" Ron asked.

"I've got a load of work to do," Hermione sighed, "But I promise I'll come visit Molly tomorrow. You did say Angelina's there, didn't you?"

"Yes, she is," Ron wiggled his eyebrows, "George is head over heels, though that's not much of a surprise. I'd better get going, see you both tomorrow?"

After bidding Ron goodbye, Harry turned back to Hermione, catching her arm as she made to turn away.

"Hermione," he said, quietly, "Malfoy mentioned you in the letter."

"Oh?" she tried to sound casual, confused, "Did he?"

"He said that he cared for you, very much, and he knew that you valued mine and Ron's judgement over anything else in the world."

Hermione stared at him, trying to understand what he was saying.

"Do you have anything you want to tell me, Hermione?" Harry asked, scrutinizing her face.

"No, not really."

"Hermione. Come on."

"Malfoy and I – we became – more civil during the last year at Hogwarts," Hermione felt like she was about to cry, "But I never – told him how I felt. Because of us and because of the war. Because of you two. I just thought you'd never forgive him for what he'd done."

"Well, I don't know about Ron," said Harry, "But I'm not going to stop you, Hermione, not if this is what you really want. Also, what does 'more civil' mean, exactly? Because if-"

Hermione interrupted him, her eyebrows raised. "When have you ever stopped me from doing anything I wanted to do?"

"Fair point. But you didn't answer my question."

"Maybe you'd prefer not to know!" exclaimed Hermione, pulling on her jacket and grabbing her handbag in exasperation. The thought of telling Harry anything about her disastrous relationship with Draco Malfoy made her feel like she'd just accidentally ingested a puking pastille.

"At this point, nothing surprises me anymore," said Harry, grinning at her and standing up. "You should write to him, though. He seemed sincere."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry and promised that she would owl Malfoy tonight. She gave him a hug and a kiss and walked outside, disapparating under the little black awning of the Leaky Cauldron.

Later that evening, Hermione bent over the desk in her study, staring at a blank piece of parchment. She didn't know what to write, much less what she could possibly say to him. That she'd spent the last months thinking about him? How could she explain that she had committed every bit of him to memory, so much so that the absence of him felt like a particularly nasty bruise.

In the end, she decided on this.

 _Everyone else isn't you. It turns out this is a huge problem for me._

 _I'm sorry._

 _HG_

It was three days before Tonks returned with a note.

It read, in messy scrawl.

 _I'll give you an hour._

 _DM_

Her heart in her mouth, Hermione scribbled a response and tied it to Tonks's leg, feeling both reckless and terrified.

He apparated onto her front step at 10 pm, dark cloak barely discernible from the night itself. Hermione heard the knock on the door and hurried downstairs to let him in, feeling as though she was walking into a cage with an angry dragon.

"Come in," she said, opening the door a little wider, letting Draco slip past her into the tiny foyer. She smelled something like mint, the familiar musk of his cologne and the spice of Translyvanian firewhiskey. It made her knees weak.

"Not bad, Granger," he said, as he reached the top of the carpeted stairs. "Bit small, isn't it?"

"I didn't think you'd come," Hermione said, staring at him. He looked so out of place in her tiny flat, too tall and pale and exotic looking for her blue and white décor.

"Well," said Malfoy, "I've always had a bit of a weakness for firewhiskey, you see. And hearing you apologize."

"What makes you think I'm going to apologize?" Hermione asked, waspishly. She realized, at that exact moment, that Draco was making constant, unfailing eye contact. With a rush of strange comprehension, she understood why he'd always given the impression of seeing straight through her.

"You're an Occlumens, aren't you?" she gasped, staring at him.

"You owled me that you were sorry, didn't you?" Draco smirked. "But yes, I am. I don't use it unless I feel the need to, but-"

"That's why you wrote the letter," said Hermione, aghast, "To Harry. You knew that I was so terrified of what he would think- "

"I was sorry," said Malfoy, simply, "I needed to apologize. You were a big part of it, though. I knew you cared about me, but you're fiercely loyal to your friends. I had to put aside my pride for a little bit."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What use would that have been?" Malfoy looked amused, "You would have tried to stop me from telling him about - you and I."

"I wasn't under the impression that we were anything," Hermione said, trying not to make eye contact. She heard him move and suddenly he'd shoved a hand under her chin, forcing her face upwards, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"You tell me, Granger, are we? And don't tell me you don't know."

"I-I-"Hermione couldn't speak for a minute, and then, slowly, she came to her senses. It was no use lying to him anymore.

"I want an answer. I've given you mine."

"This is my answer," she said steadily. "My answer is that I do care. I care so much it hurts sometimes. My answer is that I've missed you like hell, and I want you, all of you," she was breathless now, feeling as if her heart would burst from her body. "So, I think that makes us something, if you'll have me."

Hermione had never seen Draco look like he did at that moment. He was nearly beatified, a hard, blazing happiness enveloping the normally expressionless features.

"I like your logic," he growled, and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers for the millionth time.


End file.
